Soulful Muse

The sun begins to set on this November night as I look out my kitchen window. The bright sun that lit my day, all day long, slowly turns to glowing, multiple, softer colors to soften the transition to my night’s dawn.

Unfortunately for us today, we merely turn on more lights and even more lights to assure us that the sun is still lit and will remain brightly lit.

The darkness of night brings about a restful sleep to begin a new sunny day. But now, while still awake, it is complete darkness outside my kitchen window. Darkness. Darkness surrounds me but never, ever envelopes me. Darkness quiets me. Darkness gives me unbounded space. Darkness gives me that pause that sun does not allow. Darkness gives me far more than me.

Doing and performing? That’s the task of sunlight. Darkness? The darkness of light empowers us with a perfect spiritual opportunity for reflection. “Darkness of light! Oxymoron? Not a chance.

Turn off some of those evening lights. Immerse, revel yourself into the darkness that is the most important part of your evolving life.

Unfinished business? Lifted up to God, complete with a thankful heart. Hope? Only with the grace of God can you continue. Resolution? Sometimes it is simply over, or there maybe a sunny tomorrow. Regret finally forgiven and forgotten? The best of all, dissipated and dissolved into the mystery of life. Peace of God? Far beyond the daily sun offerings but savoring God’s melancholy sunsets together with God’s entwining midst into the unraveling of our darknesses.

“Good night.” It can take on a new and more meaningful expression for you and for those whom you wish it.

Two significant Catholic days separated by a quick, single … one second. “All Saints” followed by “All Souls.” As though they are not the same, we need to separate them.
 Separate? Apart? Not the same? Not equal? Not in my world.

Like any young person and now an older one, you still and always begin with your parents and then move onward meeting others throughout your life.

My Dad did not have a wheel with spikes rolled over his body. (Catherine of Alexandria.) Mom was never beheaded (unlike how many other saints) but, sorrowfully, beheaded herself through her unreconcilable lifelong pains that haunted and hindered her from the person she aspired to be.

Both souls? You bet. Both saints? You can bet once again. My gentle, super-introverted, quiet dad provided a home for five loud kids. As adult children, he sat next to our kitchen fireplace, smoking his cigar and intently listened to the recent dramas from each of us. Each without opinion or comment. Mother? Never missed preparing nutritious meals for five growing children complete with ingredients and vitamins unheard of in the fifties. Both souls or are saints? You judge.

Yet, please don’t judge. We have only one Judge. Our life’s gift is to observe and look at all the souls we encounter and then witness the saintliness they show us. I encountered many souls during my years and, yes, I’ve also been keenly respectful for the sainthood that each one possesses.

It takes the Church generations to generate a saint while we come across souls every single day. What is the distance between the two? One second. Or, is it a single, selfless moment or a lifelong friendship that that soul becomes a saint?

In writing this, I recall many saints/souls persons in my life. They don’t have a Church’s date but they have me. They have me every day. They help me look in the morning mirror while brushing my teeth wondering if I’ll remain a soul and will I be a saint?

Or, better yet, why can’t I be both?

For newcomers to Alexian Village, here’s my sad “All Saints List.” For those who know me, you’ve probably forgotten, so here’s my sad list once more.

Tiffany, Courtney, Heather, Tracy, and Brittany.

Poor things have no one to personally pray to. They are unable to mirror or manage the behavior and actions of a saint in their own lives. Someone to whom aspire, inspire, move, rouse, stir, animate, fire the imagination, and most importantly, encourage.

For that is what those who lived among us did and now do within us. Their lived lives now become verbs. Action words. Words that lead to action. Saints.

Why else would the Church create and use the past lives of men and women to continue living actively in the lives of those named after them?

In the Beatitudes, Jesus cleverly, as usual, holds out opposites to make a positive, pious point. He takes an extortionist named Matthew to write for us his beautiful Gospel. He takes a Jew-killer, blinds him for a while, and whose writings we hear at every single Mass. Changes his name to Paul, smart move Jesus.

To be gender-neutral, there’s also Leroy, Harold, Walter (my dad), and Horace. Poor guys … and gals.

Jesus even endows Oscar for his saintly-lived life in El Salvador for the benefit of the truly least fortunate. And, nobody names their kid Judas but what a potent name. If it wasn’t for Judas Jesus would not have been crucified, which last time I checked, is a pretty important part of our salvation story.

Yet, there is hope for those sadly named guys and gals. We offer adoption to them holthis day. Pray that they uncover a hero/heroine that we call “saint’ adding some of those active verbs making their life’s journey holy, meaningful, and worthy.

So, to Leroy, Tiffany, Harold, Courtney, Walter, Tracy, Horace, and Brittany? Good luck.

To those of us carrying and bearing saintly names, we can only say, “thank you” to our parents and hope that those names walk us with us throughout our lives.

Oh, by the way, my great niece’s name? Nova. I rest my case.

It is so damn easy to dismissively and unproductively damaging to reduce a parent to those three darn Witches, “Coulda,” “Woulda,” and “Shoulda.”

It is damaging to your memories and in your rememberings. My heart and soul about her, many years after her passing, are the “D” words listed below. (I used four “D” words already in a disparaging way. Well, okay, five times.) Find a letter for your Mother that healthfully retrieves and smilingly finds a place within you.

By her deliberate compassion about my failing grades, an ouched finger, or well deserved spanking. The discipline she showed us five about the importance of observing Catholic practices and rituals. Those deliciously many-full, healthy, flavored stews and casseroles. A dedicated discipline in raising growing children, well into her fifties. In spite of her own devolving person-hood, her devotion always to family first. With a quiet husband strapped to his easy chair next to the fireplace, she devoted love, from both of them, to the five of us. Daringly, her solo summer weekly trips to a cottage with only her wit, wisdom, and whims to humor us five. Through her love of music, she duplicated for each of us a deep, continuing love for music of all kinds.

Decidedly impaired in her personal life but only exhibited to a few. Deadly, my mother found her well earned eternal peace.

And, now her five fulfilled, retired, children bi-weekly Zoom even as the virus subsides. We talk seriously about politics mixed with comical family humor (many times the politics spills into humor). However, during those Zooms, spoken or silent, is the continuing rememberings and re-memorizings of our, my, “D” labeled Mother.

PS. I love the “W’s,” I could have fun with those.

“Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under roof…”

Unworthy? Ummm…

Abraham was not only too old but enjoyed the company of a mistress and it wasn’t tea and crumpets. Abraham’s wife boldly laughed at God, Noah was a drunk. Mary was nervous. Miriam was a gossip. Jacob was a deceiver. Lazarus died and needed to die again. John the Baptist loses his head over a silly pledge. The great King David had his best friend killed so he could marry his wife. What’s your excuse for your unworthiness?

For his done deeds, Judas needs no introduction to belong to this motley group. Moses stuttered and was refused entry into the promised land. What’s your excuse for your unworthiness?

Peter constantly tries to impress Jesus. Thomas gets the adjective “doubting” added before his name until reality faces him in the face. Matthew kept his tax license, just in case. Brothers James and John? They both butted heads about who’s the better person. What’s your excuse for your unworthiness?

It’s an endless list of struggling Biblical believers that looks a lot like a bunch of comedic characters in a TV show that we laugh about and move on to the next comedy. Yet, this is real. This is our faith and hearing about the faith of those who’ve gone before us.

These are our forebears before, during and after Jesus. This is where we enter this comedic, serious drama of life. Before receiving the Body of Christ we admit we are not worthy…who is!? It is exactly our unworthiness that prompts us to prayer and to gather here.

We come to this sacrament as the broken people that we are to be united, once and every time after, to join our lives with the foibles and follies of centuries old people. What wonderful and complex company we keep.

And is the question, in spite of who we are or is the question because of who we are.

A philosopher writes, “What is it that you desire, you who aim at perfection? Give yourselves full scope. Your wishes need have no measure. However much you may desire I can show you how to attain it, even though it be infinite…the present, [this very moment, this very passing minute] is ever filled with infinite treasure, it contains more than you have capacity to hold.”

Pope Francis in “Evangelii Gaudium,” The joy of the Gospel fills the hearts and lives of all who encounter Jesus. Those who accept his offer of salvation are set free from sin, sorrow, inner emptiness and loneliness. With Christ joy is constantly born anew.”

Let’s form that “before receiving Communion statement” not as a statement but as a question. “Lord, I am not worthy that you should come under roof?” Come on, Lord. You’ve gotta be kidding me.

Be glad you are not worthy or else there is no other reason for us to be here. Just recall and remember the crazy company we keep.

H, A and F. Three words that are not feelings but reactions while watching the current source of news.

Hate ignites unbridled anger (the next word) with not outlet or release.

Anger is the reaction to unfolding hatred with a growing misplaced release

(Worst of all?) Fear is the culmination of H & A to totally scare the heebie-jeebeies into your watching and re-watching TV again.

The sequence can vary but the three combined, and mixed together, are both culturally and spiritually unhealthy.

Viewing television news of any sort needs listening and not hearing ears. Allow your mind and heart to absorb the information. Invite your soul to, most importantly, digest the news and enlighten the mind and heart. And, exactly where is your soul? It’s next to the pancreas. (Everybody knows that!)

I hope we all have people we can admire for their professional and honest approach to their work. For newscasters, a bar was set high with the work of Walter Cronkite. The weight of this man’s integrity and career continues to marvels viewers and fellow journalists. Even saying his name with his throaty baritone voice carried a trusted believability.

CBS News

For nineteen years, during the evening meal, he summarized the day’s events for us in as much an objective way as possible. Gimmicky graphics, moving cameras, split screens, arguing consultants and scrolling gibberish was not his presentation of the news.

The trusted honesty that he instilled in us was not because he was a personality. (He seemed to not have one, actually.)  He didn’t want or intend for that to happen. It was simply (and I emphasize that word) to deliver the news from around the world in a clear, concise fashion. As he spoke, you had time to absorb and make sense, or no sense, of what was occurring from the Vietnam War, to JFK’s assassination to the thrilling excitement of the first space shuttle.

It’s been said that President Johnson remarked, “If we lose Cronkite on the (Vietnam) war, we’ve lost the country.” He even reported as a corespondent during the Nuremberg Trials, following World War II.

He Had the Look of Trust & Authority

Integrity

Always a favorite word of mine, Cronkite believed in what he was doing and felt that he made a difference by doing it. (What more can anyone ask of life?) That is not only integrity, it is passion; the kind that gets you out of bed after only a few hours of sleep to return again to the work you just left.

Fellow newscaster, Robert MacNeil said after Cronkite’s death that, “He didn’t have to pretend to be anything that he wasn’t. He loved being Walter Cronkite, doing something valuable. People deserved the truth.” What a marvelous epithet for all of us to reach toward.

Too Much Stuff Moving & Yelling

Too Many Channels

With all the television news programs these days, I guess the devolution of news was bound to happen. The more “objective” reporting of yesterdays are now replaced with snipes, smug dismissal of public servants and self-serving newscasters who are more celebrities than journalists.

The only subjective view in Cronkite’s newscast was from a equally “non personality.” For years it was Eric Sevareid who in sixty seconds delivered a piercing, crisp and articulate analysis on a particular subject that left your ears speechless when he was finished.  He talked to us flatly while looking at the camera, talking into a huge microphone with nothing behind or beside him. I think Boris Karloff based his “Frankenstein” character on Eric’s stolid presence.

One camera, one man, one day’s news. I felt that Cronkite was objective and I hope I was right.  At least there is a hint of doubt in my mind about him but I’m definitely sure of the current cable breed.

H, A & F have no room in anyone’s life. Like cancer, they only grow inside us and then explode in ways we can never imagine. Mix those three “reactions” together with a group? You know what you get.

Living in the past and reliving the past is always the easiest because there is rarely, if ever, a change. It is also among the worst of our habits, both physically and spiritually.

Thoughts and sentences inevitably begin with two dreadful words, if only.

“If only I didn’t say that on the phone or written it in that note or email.”

“If only I was a different person back then…”

And included in any “if only” list is, “If only that person is who I want that person to be.”

If cancer spreads throughout your body, just imagine how our “if only” thoughts eat away in our minds and slowly consumes our souls. Perhaps we don’t need to imagine it. It may very well be an easily digestive pattern to aging lives.

Regrets are one thing. Admitting there’s no second chance, regrets are tossed into the garbage with a strong resolve not to be repeated.

“If only” thoughts are the easiest because they’ve found a house to haunt instead of a home of comfort and peace. You wants to live in a house?

Jesus found a way to deal with those scary, “If only’s”. The demons are placed in pigs and thrown off a cliff. He found a place to reduce the past and replaced with this day of peace and the day after that filled with hope.

“Who are those guys!?” It’s repeated so often in the film to make its point poignant. It’s this mysterious posse in dedicated pursuit far away but still in view to these two culprits.

It’s Paul Newman and Robert Redford in the movie, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.” Trying to run away, these two are galloping up and down mountains, quickly riding through lowlands. Very often pausing, these two stars look behind them saying that repeated, but unanswered, question. “Who are those guys?”

With all due respect to our Blessed Trinity, don’t we very often think but never say out loud, “Just, who are those guys up there!?” 

There’s our unseen Creator, His once-visible Son and making it a trio is the sidekick, the ever nagging and inspiring Holy Spirit. That’s our holy posse chasing after each of us. Catching up to us is not to be arrested for our failures, foibles, and failings but to hug and embrace each of us. 

That’s the gesture of love that “those guys” created and the love we are able to share both within and about ourselves and then extended to others. 

But that’s about horses. What about cars?  The best movie car chase ever is “Bullitt.” Better than any after it. Eleven minutes of terror and thrill. No music, no dialogue, just the sounds of revving engines and  squealing tires up, down and around the San Francisco streets. There’s Dodge Charger, bad guys – evil chasing Mustang, good guy, Steve McQueen – goodness.

Zooming away, bad guys have that sly smile of catching someone as though they’ve got the upper hand. The spiritual twist to this chase is Dodge Charger, bad guys, lose sight of Mustang, good guy. “Where did he go?” is the look on both faces. Driver bad guy spots Mustang McQueen in his rear view mirror. The chase continues but now has switched sides. 

Psalm 23 anyone? “You set a table before me in the sight of my foes.”  Mustang guy now knows exactly where Dodge Charger guys are. Who, now, is chasing whom?

But now back to the horses. The best scene in that movie is Newman and Redford caught and cornered on a cliff needing a way out. The only solution is by jumping into the deep, rocky water below. Hesitatingly, Redford admits to Newman that he can’t swim. Newman responds, “Hell, the fall will kill ya!”

They jump. They jump out of fear and to simply escape. We jump. We powerlessly jump to give up our selfish powers to be empowered by the power of God. We die to ourselves and allow that heavenly posse to capture, embrace and hug us into the life the three of them created for us. 

Sound scary? It is and it’s not. Don’t ask me. Just jump off and feel and see who captures and embraces you. And, thanks to Steve McQueen, who’s chasing whom?

Close enough. Close enough.

In the hospital, after opening up your heart, the heart surgeon says to you in the recovery room, “Close enough,” as you choke on your tiny ice cubes.

“Close enough.” Never said out loud, but it can so easily be expressed in so many different ways.

For us Catholics, as it may be for other religions, it’s often safely, narrowed down to formulas People say, “I said my rosary!” “I went to Mass!” Nothing transforming or enlightening with those statements or recitations. Please note those sad two verbs, “said” and “went.” They are words showing completion, finished, and being done. “Praying” is the correct verb and our response to the meaning of this Christ-Cross.

Where’s the personal formation found in those recited formulas? Or, does it easily remain recited formula prayers, said again and again, without the accompanying Christ-challenging ongoing personal formation?

Nailing and unnailing the Cross is a lifelong challenge precisely because of its power, a unifying power between you and Christ. (But that’s not true, I’ll get to that later.) The Cross is all about shaking things up. Shaking up your life. Or, better said, shaping and reshaping up your life by confronting selfishness and sin and then nailing your entire being with the grace and love given by God through our surrendering to God. We can so often think that death/cross/resurrection as though that happened only once. It happens every single day of our lives…those same three exact words sacrificed by Christ and now offered for us to copy. Can you copy Christ on the Cross? “Imitation is the greatest form of flattery,” or so we’re told.

The auto mechanic tells you that we rotated your tires. Handing you the bill he says, “It’s close enough.” Just tell me how you feel driving home?

How shall I spend this one brief, singular, God-breathed-in-me life? Shall I hoard it in fear or give it away in hope as Christ did for me? Shall I push suffering aside at all costs and in doing so, push Jesus aside too? Or, is it sufficient and close enough to wearing around your neck an overpriced, gold version of what Jesus did for us?

You know in our conversations we constantly misuse the word Cross. We speak of it in our lives as a burden to be carried. We even say of someone, “Just look at the Cross she has to carry…poor thing!” Doesn’t that suggest that Jesus should have told God, “No, way Jose’” in the garden? Doesn’t that understanding of the Cross erase all of salvation and redemption history? The Christ-Cross is the cross-over from death into life. The cross-over from sin to repentance.

(whispering) I think that’s you and me.

Can I freely and willingly accompany and walk with the one we call “Savior” on the only road that leads to resurrection? “Freely” without that end bargaining with God about whether it’s heaven, purgatory, or hell. “Willingly” since that is the inner yearnings and promptings common to all our lives.

And speaking about verbs, how about those personal nouns, “I” and “you?” People ask me, “If I’m doing Mass next weekend?” I reply, “You do lunch, but I don’t do Mass!” To be Catholic, as the word defines itself, is always about us…never, ever about you or me alone. The collective sacrifice of the Cross is collectively witnessed and then shared with others about our disappointments and trials and then embracingly listening to the stories from others. Transforming our horizontal hardships of the Cross into vertical heaps of hope. As usual, Jesus showed us how this life-thing is done. Transforming the suffering sacrifice of one God-man on a wooden Cross into a joy-filled resurrection.

After your retirement party, you meet with HR, and she tells you about your pension benefit program with the closing words, “Close enough.” Your car takes you to the nearest tavern.

Just keep thinking and meaning but never saying out loud, “Close enough.” Because then you don’t have to engage or take risks. Because it can be pretty risky to take risks. Just ask the guy on the Cross.

Yes, we believe, and we rejoice in the mystery of the salvation Jesus secured for us through his death. But the Cross is not a historical artifact or a necklace adornment. In faith, the Cross is the way forward. Religious wholeness. In faith, this Christ-Cross is our only way forward toward meaningful and purposeful lives.

Well, I’m done. How did I do? Did I hit “the nail on the head” of His Cross? Or was my homily just and only “close enough?

These are the things I learned in kindergarten: Share everything. Play fair. Don’t hit people. Put things back where you found them. Clean up your own mess. Don’t take things that aren’t yours.

The Savior “shall proclaim peace to the nations. His dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth.”

Say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody. Wash your hands before you eat. Flush. Warm cookies and cold milk are good for you. Live a balanced life. Learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.

“If the Spirit of the one who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, the one who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also, through his Spirit that dwells in you.”

Take a nap every afternoon. When you go out into the world, watch for traffic, hold hands and stick together. Be aware of wonder. Remember the little green seed in the plastic cup. The roots go down and the plant goes up and nobody really knows how or why, but we are all like that.

“No one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son wishes to reveal him.”

Goldfish and hamsters and white mice and even the little seed in the plastic cup – they all die. So do we.

“For if you live according to the flesh, you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live.”

And then remember the book about Dick and Jane and the first word you learned, the biggest word of all: LOOK! Everything you need to know is in there somewhere.

“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.”

And it is still true (and will always remain true); no matter how old you are, when you go out into the world, it is best to hold hands and stick together!